


I Know That Fortune Is Waiting to Be Kind

by Chash



Series: Til My Eyes Go Blind [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6555784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bellamy is eleven, his mother dies, and he finds out his father was a prince, which makes him a prince too, albeit a bastard prince. And when he's twelve, his family decides he would be a good candidate for marriage to Princess Clarke of Arcadia. Princess Clarke thinks so too, but only because he agrees to come back in ten years and help her make sure the wedding never takes place. </p><p>It seems like a really good deal, when he's twelve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know That Fortune Is Waiting to Be Kind

Bellamy is twelve when he first meets his future wife.

"Stop slouching," Ambassador Kane snaps.

"I'm not," Bellamy mutters, tugging on his collar. It's too tight, and he feels ridiculous. He's not a _prince_ , not a real one. His father was a prince, but his mother was a seamstress who worked nights in a tavern to make ends meet, and Bellamy didn't know the first thing about his royal father until his mother died last year, and her will said the crown had to take him and Octavia. She'd had proof of his parentage, for all Prince Alexander was dead, and suddenly he and his sister were--well, they weren't royalty and they weren't commoners, but they lived in the palace and didn't get along with anyone.

And now he's here, being _used_. He has no claim to the throne, but his royal blood can still be useful, in a marriage bid. A prince who can't rule his own country is valuable.

"You will make a good impression on King Jacob and Queen Abigail," says Kane, like this is up to him.

"What makes you think that?" he asks.

"You will. What will you say when you meet the queen?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesties," Bellamy says, promptly, and manages to swallow his smile when Kane's jaw twitches.

"It's _it's an_ honor _to meet you, your_ highnesses," he corrects, with careful enunciation. And then he adds, "As you well know," which sours the triumph a little. "Do you think you and your sister will be better served if you don't marry? I assure you, this is not the case. Marriage to a princess would secure your future, not ruin it. You should not want to be a bastard in the palace all your life. It's no life."

He knows it's true, but knowing that doesn't make him feel better. He doesn't want to be a prince or a bastard. He just wants to be Bellamy.

"Tell me about the princess," Kane continues.

"Princess Clarke," he says. "She's eight."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And why do you want to marry her?"

"Because apparently my life will be worse if I don't," he says, and Kane's jaw twitches again. "Do you want the political reasons? I've never met her, I don't know why else I'd want to marry her."

"Can you make the political reasons sound good?" Kane asks, sounding more curious than irritated now.

"It would be an advantageous union for both Arcadia and Olympia," he says promptly. He knows this. "Arcadia has a princess who needs a husband to come live with her, because she's the only heir. If she doesn't rule, no one will. I don't have a claim to the Olympian crown, which is good for them. Royal blood, no risk of Olympia trying to leverage me to claim Arcadia as a part of our kingdom. They'll solidify a good alliance with no risk."

"You do pay attention." Bellamy doesn't respond to that, and Kane nods. "Disadvantages?"

"I'm a bastard. I don't make for a prestige match." He figures there's no harm in adding, "Not a great personality either."

Kane actually laughs at that. "At least you're aware of your own faults."

"Yeah, it's a real comfort."

"You'll be fine. Be polite, speak only when spoken to, make sure you emphasize what an honor it is to even be considered for marriage to the heir to the Arcadian throne. You won't have to say much; I'll handle the politics. Remember, if you don't marry her, you don't have any better prospects, and King Delphinius won't be pleased if he hears you squandered this chance."

"And what if they just don't pick me?"

"I will be honest with the king. I'm on your side," Kane adds, which Bellamy doesn't believe for a second, but they've arrived at a grand set of doors, and Kane is flashing his ambassador's badge and they're being admitted.

The first thing Bellamy notices is the thrones, because the entire reception hall is designed to make people notice the thrones. They're right across from the doors, on a raised dais, the place everyone is supposed to look.

The second thing he notices is the girl drawing on the floor next to the dais. Her crown is crooked in her golden hair, and she's leaned over the parchment with unwavering focus, as if she has never done anything in her life as important as what she's doing now.

She looks a little older than Octavia, and her dress is beautiful, for all she's getting it dirty. This must be the princess.

He follows Kane to the thrones, stops when he stops, bows when he bows. The princess still hasn't looked up from her picture; out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy can see it's a horse. Of _course_ it is. O loves horses too. What is it with girls and horses? 

He realizes Kane is speaking and turns his attention back to the king and queen. They're not as interesting as the princess, because they're just sitting in thrones looking regal, and who cares? Anyone can look regal in a throne. The princess looks regal on the floor with charcoal on her hands; that takes skill.

"This is Prince Bellamy," Kane is saying, and it still doesn't feel like him, when people talk about Prince Bellamy. It feels like someone else. 

"It's an honor to meet you, your highnesses," he says. It's such a stupid word, honestly, _highnesses_. Majesties sounds better, as far as he's concerned. But no one asked him.

Kane clears his throat slightly, and Bellamy remembers to bow again.

"You're Prince Alexander's son," says the queen, regarding him critically. "You take after him."

He heard that, even before he knew the prince was his father. People offered it as a compliment. "Thank you, your highness," he says.

"You were only recently taken into the royal family, correct?" asks the king.

"Yes, your highness. Last year, after my mother passed away."

"Interesting, that she didn't try to capitalize on the relationship when she was alive," says the queen.

Bellamy shrugs, and then realizes it's probably rude. He doubts he's supposed to shrug at royalty. Which is kind of confusing, honestly; if royals can't even relax around each other, when do they? A year in and he still hasn't figured it out.

"I don't know, your highness," he says. "She never discussed it with me. She told me my father was an important man, but I found out his name from her will, the same as his family did."

"You never would have known him," the king says. "That must be difficult."

He nearly shrugs again, but he stops himself. "It's always been my life, your highness. I never thought about it."

"How's the palace?" asks the princess. He glances over at her, sees she hasn't looked up from her drawing.

"Excuse me?"

"The palace. That must be a big change."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I got lost every day for the first six months."

"They didn't have someone showing you around?"

"Just when I was going somewhere official," he says. "They left me alone a lot. I live there. It would be weird to have a guide all the time."

"Not _all_ the time. It just seems mean to leave a kid alone in a giant palace right after his mom died."

"You're calling me a kid?" he asks. "You're eight."

"And?"

"I wasn't alone. I had my sister. She's about your age. Seven."

"She's not a princess, is she?"

"No. She's someone else's bastard."

"Bellamy," Kane says, and he remembers, suddenly, that he's in the royal throne room, in front of the king and queen.

The princess smirks at him, and he resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her. It's hard to feel properly formal with someone who's eight.

"It's fine," says the king. "I assume they'll have a better time talking to each other than they will talking to us. Clarke, why don't you show Bellamy some of our palace?"

Clarke stands and brushes her hands off on a cloth. She's smaller than he expected; she has a lot of presence. Maybe that's what happens, when you're raised a princess instead of just stumbling into it.

"You want to decide our futures without us?"

The queen's mouth twists, but the king smiles. "We'll wait to decide everything until you've had your say."

"No you won't," she says, under her breath. She looks up at Bellamy like she's expecting a fight. "Come on."

Bellamy glances back at Kane, but Kane is watching him impassively. If he thinks Bellamy shouldn't go, he's giving no indication of it, so Bellamy's going. The princess is at least more fun than the throne room.

She leads him down a hall, up some stairs, down another hall, and out onto a balcony overlooking the garden. She sits down, legs between the rails, and he hesitates before sitting next to her. They passed guards on their way up here and none of them seemed concerned; the princess is safe in her own palace, which is how it's supposed to be. 

He wonders what it would be like, to feel at home in a place like this.

"So, you want to marry me?" she asks.

"No," he says. "I don't want to marry anybody. I don't want to be a prince."

"Why not?"

She sounds curious, not offended, so he feels safe saying, "I don't like princes. I don't like my uncle the king, or my aunts. I don't like most of my cousins. I don't like people who have the power to make things better and don't do anything with it." He stops himself, but she's still just looking at him, interested, and he says, "I still don't have any power, not really. I'm a prince but they don't know what to do with me. That's why they want to marry me off. So I'll be someone else's problem and do them some good."

"I don't want to get married either," she says. "Not like this."

"Like what?"

"Picking someone _now_ for me to marry in ten years? Who knows what I'll be like in ten years? Who knows what the kingdom will be like? It's so stupid, deciding it now. But it's all about politics and treaties and some stupid tradition where girls can't pick their husbands." She huffs and then says, "If I marry anyone, it's going to be you."

He almost chokes. "Your parents said that?"

"No, I'm saying that. My father will--if I have a choice, he'll try to honor it. And you're a good choice."

"Thanks?"

She flashes him a grin. "If you agree to marry me, you have to agree to _not_ marry me."

"How do I do that?"

"In ten years, when you come back for the wedding, we're going to make sure it doesn't happen. I don't want to marry you, you don't want to marry me. Deal?"

She offers her hand, and he considers. "How do you stop a wedding?"

"I don't know. But we have ten years to figure it out."

He thinks it over, but of course he's not going to say no. He doesn't want to marry her either.

"Deal," he says, and shakes her hand.

They leave the palace with a marriage alliance with Arcadia secured; Kane is delighted, and Bellamy doesn't tell him what he did to make the princess choose him.

It'll be a fun surprise, in ten years. He's looking forward to seeing the ambassador's face.

*

He doesn't really have much time to think about his eventual marriage--or lack thereof--for the next few years. A month after the arrangement is made, he begins his knight training, which he much prefers to skulking around the castle with his sister, always feeling out of place. While his royal cousins are, in general, not the kind of people he can relate to, there are a number of pages from less old and respected houses who feel more like the people Bellamy grew up with. He makes fast friends with Nathan of Millsvale, whose father was only just given a title last year, as a reward for his faithful service in the guard, and Raven of Ironforge, who explains that her family are the royal smiths, but they wouldn't let her learn the trade, because it's not woman's work.

"So you're becoming a knight?" Bellamy asks.

"Exactly," she says, with a grin that's all teeth. "I'm doing it, so it's woman's work. They can't stop me."

They both rib him occasionally about being a _prince_ who's going to marry a _princess_ , and he accepts it with the best grace he can. It's not as if he can really say he's _not_ going to marry her. Officially, he is engaged to Princess Clarke of Arcadia, and he has special lessons in etiquette once a week that he hates to make sure he won't make a mess of it when the time comes.

Aside from that, though, his life as a page is unobjectionable, even good. He's always been curious about learning to use real weapons, swords and bows instead of just his fists, and he finds the lessons--tactics and history and language--interesting too. According to the training master, he's a natural leader whom people listen to, which he thinks is just a sign that too many people aren't very good at thinking things through. Bellamy's not doing anything special, he just has a loud voice and understands how to win fights.

"You'll be a good king someday," the training master tells him, when he's sixteen and officially a squire. It takes him several days to recover from _that_ statement.

He's nineteen when King Jacob of Arcadia dies. He's at a pub in Azgeda with his knight master, and when they start toasting to the king's memory, he asks to be excused.

It takes him four drafts to get a letter worth sending to Clarke, because he doesn't really know what to _say_. He hasn't talked to her in seven years, and it was only one afternoon and evening when he did. But he liked her father, and that's what he ends up saying. He shares his strongest memory of the man, at dinner, when he'd asked what Bellamy's mother did and listened with apparently earnest interest as Bellamy told him about learning how to sew in her warm shop, about raising Octavia there. 

_I didn't know him well, but I do know he was a good man and a good king, and I'm sorry I won't get to meet him again_ , he concludes. _While I'm sure there's nothing I can offer you that you don't already have, I give you my condolences, and if there is anything else you might need from me, you only have to ask it._

He hates the line when he reads it again, but he doesn't know what else to say and he hates everything else he came up with more, so he signs it, _Your distant friend, Bellamy_ and hopes that, at the very least, it won't make her suffering any worse.

Her reply comes promptly, but it goes to the royal palace in Olympia, so he doesn't see it for another month. It's brief, but she seems sincere and genuinely grateful to have heard from him.

 _Knowing your opinion of royalty, it means a great deal that you liked him_ , she says, and he smiles for the rest of the week.

As ridiculous as he feels for it, he keeps the letter.

And then, two months before Princess Clarke of Arcadia's eighteen birthday, he's summoned to Arcadia to begin planning his wedding, and he has no idea at all what to expect.

*

He brings Nate, Raven, and Octavia, because he's allowed to choose his own companions, and they're the only people he really thinks of as _his_. Nate and Raven he trusts; Octavia he's worried about. Having no noble blood of her own, she couldn't try for a knight's shield herself, and when they tried to train her into a lady's maid, she didn't take to it.

To say the least.

She tagged along to his knight training and learned as much as she was allowed to, helped out the training master even, but she didn't have anywhere to go from there. There's a service in Arcadia for lowborn men and women who want to fight, and he's hoping even if he doesn't stay here, his sister might find a place she's happy with. It would be a nice thing to get, if he gets nothing else.

Ambassador Kane is the one who meets them, along with a tall, dark man about Bellamy's age, who stands ramrod straight with his hands behind his back. Next to him, even the ambassador looks relaxed.

Kane offers his hand. "My prince. It's good to see you again."

The last time he saw Kane, he wasn't being nearly so deferential. Bellamy wonders if it's that he's grown up and Kane doesn't think he can get away being disrespectful anymore, or if the man really thinks Bellamy's grown into his royalty. Either way, it puts him on edge.

"You as well," Bellamy lies. "My sister, Octavia, and my companions Sir Nathan and Lady Raven."

"A pleasure," says Kane, and there are handshakes all around. "This is Lincoln, the princess's adviser. She's otherwise engaged at the moment, but she didn't want you to feel neglected."

The man remains impassive as he bows to Bellamy and offers his hand; Bellamy shakes and tries to read the situation. They'll be living here for two months, and as far as anyone else knows, he'll be staying after. But somehow, he doubts Clarke has changed her mind about her plan. From what he's heard of her in the last few years, she still doesn't sound like someone who would want to marry a stranger.

Maybe Lincoln is her chosen husband. Maybe she's trying to tell him something.

"The servants will take your things to your rooms," Kane says. "And I'll show your sister and your friends to them. Lincoln is taking you to meet the princess, my prince. She's almost finished."

Bellamy looks down at himself. He's a little dusty from the road, rumpled and sweaty, but he's not going to say no to the princess. It's not like he's worried about making a good impression on her, anyway. He already made one.

Nate elbows him. "She's eager to see you, huh?"

"Yeah," he says, and tells himself not to be nervous. Instead, he turns his attention to Lincoln. "Please, lead the way."

Lincoln remains quiet as he leads Bellamy through the palace, not exactly _unfriendly_ , just not starting any conversations himself. If Bellamy had anything pressing to say, he thinks he could say it to Lincoln, but since he doesn't, they go in silence.

The palace is only distantly familiar; he wasn't even here for a full day the last time, so he remembers nothing except the things that stuck out to a twelve year old: the carving on a stair rail that's sticking its tongue out, the royal family crest with a griffin on it, that painting on the way to the throne room of a man kissing a dragon as he kills it, for reasons Bellamy still does not understand.

And the princess. He does remember the princess. Not the details of her, not really; he knows she had blonde hair and blue eyes and a look of fierce determination, but that's all he has of her appearance. He remembers her drawing, and talking to him like no one had in a while then, like a peer, the kind he'd had before he became a prince.

He remembers that she wanted to marry him to not marry him, and that he wanted to do that for her. That he still wants to.

"You can wait in here," Lincoln says, opening the door to a small chamber. "She'll be with you shortly."

To his relief, there's a washroom attached to the chamber, so he cleans himself up a little, checks his reflection in the mirror. His hair is an unruly mess, as always, and his freckles and scar stand out sharply.

It's not like she's actually going to marry him anyway.

A servant brings a tray of food and wine, and there's a bookshelf, so he finds a volume of Arcadian history and settles in to read it with an apple.

He's not sure how long Clarke has been in the room when he becomes aware of her, although he's sure it's been a while. Her arms are crossed over her chest, but she's smiling.

"Shi--sorry, hi," he manages, scrambling to his feet and bowing. "Your highness," he adds, belatedly, and he can see her biting back on her grin.

"Hi, Bellamy," she says, and he feels the breath leave him in a relieved huff.

"Hi, Clarke."

At two months shy of eighteen, Princess Clarke is a few inches shorter than he is, probably about Octavia's height, with the same waves of blonde hair he remembers and the same blue eyes. Her dress is pale blue, accentuated with silver, and her crown is silver too, suiting her better than the gold one she had before. She has a mole above her lip that he doesn't remember noticing when they were children, and another one he can see when he lets his eyes stray down to the swell of her breasts over her bodice, which he's trying not to, because she's a _princess_.

A princess he's engaged to, at least in name. A princess he's not going to marry.

"Sorry for making you come see me," she says, crossing the room to poke at the tray of food. She gets a roll and holds another up at him, raising her eyebrows, and when he inclines his head, she tosses it to him.

She's not what he was expecting, but she is exactly what he was hoping for.

"I can't tell if you're apologizing for asking me to come wait for you here or apologizing for me having to come to your kingdom in the first place."

She grins. "Both."

"I still like your palace more than my palace. I don't mind." He wets his lips, looks around. "Are we really supposed to be alone?"

"My lady is outside," Clarke says. "And will be opening the door every ten minutes. And we tested that if I screamed, she could hear me. A compromise with my mother." She bites her lip, her expression faltering for the first time. "My father was always sympathetic about these things, my mother less so."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"I've been out of mourning clothes for a year," she says, but her smile is soft. "I appreciated your letter."

"Good. It took me two hours to write it."

She laughs, surprised, and sits down on the couch he vacated, patting the cushion to indicate he should do the same. He does it, leaving as much space between them as possible. "It's good to see you."

"You too."

"You're a knight now, aren't you? I've been told you were exemplary."

"Who said that?"

"I asked my ambassador to keep an eye on you for me. She thought it was romantic, so she was delighted."

Bellamy remembers the Arcadian ambassador, Cartwig, a lovely woman who _was_ always friendly to him. He'd assumed she wanted to make a good impression on her future king; it had never occurred to him that Clarke might have been involved.

"Creepy," he says, and she grins. "You should have told me, I could have been trying to be scandalous in front of her to ruin the wedding."

"No, that wouldn't have worked," she says, absent. "It made much more sense to wait until you were here. If you'd done something to make yourself a bad match before now, she would have been scrambling to find someone new before I reached my majority. And she would have succeeded."

"Then I'm glad I was doing the right thing without knowing it."

"Yes," she says. "It's been very comforting, being engaged to you."

Something in his chest twists up at her expression, and he feels his heart lodge in his throat. He hadn't realized, really, how important it was to him, either, being engaged to her. The royal family was happy with him, left him alone for the most part. And when the marriage falls through, he'll be able to just be a knight. To do what he likes. He's of majority himself, and if they do it right, neither of them has to be at fault for the dissolution of the engagement.

Clarke will be free to choose her own husband, and Bellamy will be free to do what he wants.

"So you--" he starts, and then the door opens. Clarke's lady sticks her head in, and Clarke smiles and waves. 

"Hi, Maya. This is Prince Bellamy, my betrothed." He stands and bows, and Clarke smiles. "He came to royalty late, so he's more polite than I am."

Maya drops into a flawless curtsy. "Your highness."

"Please don't," he says, wincing. "Bellamy is fine."

Maya smiles. "I'll be back in ten minutes, princess."

"We'll be here and completely proper," says Clarke, returning her lady's smile. "Thanks, Maya."

She dips another curtsy and goes, and Bellamy turns his attention back to Clarke. Her eyes are closed, and she looks--easy. Relaxed. He finds himself glad for it; he did like her, for all he barely met her.

He feels like they're allies, as ridiculous as it is.

"So, I assume you have a plan to sabotage your wedding," he says, conversational.

"Not yet," she replies, just as easy. "No details, anyway. Obviously, there are all sorts of ways to destroy a marriage, but I wouldn't ask you to have a scandalous affair. Unless you have someone in mind," she adds, slanting him a look.

He hopes his flush isn't too obvious. Bellamy is twenty-two, and he knows he has much less experience with romance than most other men his age. He's kissed a few people, women and men both, mostly out of curiosity, but he's been betrothed since before he was interested in such things, and as a bastard himself, he's too aware of how many complications can arise from a quick tumble.

Once this is over, he can think of romance; until then, he has a hand and an imagination, and he doesn't need anything more.

"No, there's no one," he says.

Clarke nods. "Just as well. As I said, I wouldn't ask you to have a scandalous affair. It would ruin your reputation. And if I had one, my mother would cover it up and have me marry you anyway."

"What are you planning to do?" he can't help asking.

"Hm?"

"So, we don't get married. Then what? I assume you still have to marry, so--what happens after?"

"The tradition in Arcadia is that women marry the week before their eighteenth birthday. Before they reach the age of majority. To symbolize that they give their freedom for the good of their families. Or, in my case, my kingdom."

"Wow. That's a terrible system."

Clarke flashes him a grin. "It's really because once a girl turns eighteen, she's no longer bound by contracts her parents made. So we don't have to destroy the engagement, just--postpone it."

"You really think your mother is going to let your wedding date get pushed back past your birthday and not notice?" he asks. He doesn't know the queen regent well, but it seems like the kind of thing a mother would expect from a daughter like Clarke. And it's a tradition. People value those.

"Not exactly." She straightens up, excited, and Bellamy finds himself excited too, in spite of himself. Her enthusiasm is catching. "All right, here's how I see it. I chose you. And I like you."

"Right," he says, ignoring the flutter in his chest.

"I always have. They know that. My father was so delighted when I had a preference, that I'd found someone I could be happy with. And I've never given any indication I was unhappy with my choice."

"You were _eight_ ," he manages.

"They were an arranged marriage too. I know this is strange for you, but for born and raised royalty, I'm the strange one. Especially in Arcadia, where almost all our marriages are arranged."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So I don't think she'll be expecting--I think we can be subtle about it."

"Subtle," he repeats.

"Trip up a few things here and there. Make delays. Unless--" She catches her bottom lip in her teeth, a nervous tic he hopes isn't a habit, because it would be bad for his mental health. He doesn't need his attention drawn to her mouth. "I know it's asking a lot. I've thought about writing you dozens of times over the last few years, to let you out of this. And now I'm asking you to give up two months of your life to--"

"Clarke," he says, and impulsively reaches over to put one of his hands over hers. It's the kind of thing he'd do if she was--his friend. And he thinks she is, strangely enough. When she doesn't flinch or pull back, he squeezes her fingers gently. "This hasn't been a difficulty for me. If anything, it's been a blessing. The family I didn't want in the first place thought of me as a useful bargaining chip in marriages and nothing more. They've left me alone for ten years because of you. And in two months, I'll still be a knight with my own lands and property, able to do whatever I want. I've never regretted agreeing to not marry you."

Her smile is hesitant, but real, and his stomach sparks. She's _lovely_. 

"Good. But--thank you. If Olympia doesn't want you after this, Arcadia will be happy to take you."

"I never wanted Olympia in the first place," he says. "So, the plan is being subtle, huh? What do I have to do?"

Clarke's idea is straightforward and fairly simple. Their wedding date is set for a week before her eighteenth birthday, which is also when she'll be crowned as Queen of Arcadia, taking over for her mother, who's serving as queen regent, having no blood ties of her own to the Arcadian crown. Clarke's plan involves pushing the wedding back by degrees; a missed shipment here, a delayed invitation there, some problem with something or another. Lots of normal, expected issues adding up, making it impossible to keep everything on schedule.

"And you don't think she'll suspect?"

"I had Lincoln look into it. My parents' wedding was held up for five days because of a bad snowstorm. My great-grandmother ended up married three days after her birthday because they ate spoiled meat at the banquet before the wedding night. Royal wedding celebrations always stretch over a week, and changing the day of the ceremony itself isn't a big deal, especially this far out. The first month, we work on sabotage, and then, once the date is set, we'll reevaluate."

"You're going to be a great queen," he says, with some admiration.

"Because I don't want to marry you?" she asks, amused. "I'm depriving my kingdom of a king, you know."

"Because you're smart and resourceful and know what you want," he says. "And you're putting yourself first without putting your people second. They'll be fine without a king for a few years. I've kept up with you too," he adds, when she rolls her eyes. "You're a capable leader who thinks of what your kingdom needs. Your not getting married right now isn't going destroy your country or leave your people starving. You're not doing them any harm. And if it makes changes for other women in other arranged marriages, I'm sure they'll thank you."

She's quiet for a minute, and then turns her hand over. He'd almost forgotten he was still touching her, and the squeeze of her hand in his is like a shock. "Thank you. It's going to be a long time before I stop thanking you."

"You're welcome," he says. He worries his lip. "You could do something for me, if you really want."

"What?"

"My sister. She wants to train to be a warrior, but she's not a noble. There weren't many opportunities for her in Olympia. But I know you have--"

"Did she come with you?" Clarke asks.

"She did."

"Good. We can find something for her." She squeezes his fingers one last time and then lets go of his hand so she can stand. "I understand that the very demanding princess asked you to come talk to her before you'd even seen your rooms."

"She did."

"How rude of her."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

Clarke grins. "Come on, I'll show you where you're staying. And the rest of the palace. I don't want you getting lost."

He stands and stretches. "My knight training involved wayfinding, you know. I'm much more capable of surviving in unknown, hostile territory than I was when I was twelve."

Her laugh is surprised and delighted, and he feels a swoop of pride. "Good. You're not allowed to die before the wedding."

"If I died a few days before the wedding, your mother would have to give you some time to mourn. It's not my first choice, but as a backup plan--"

She laughs again, and smiles at him when he holds the door open for her.

He can think of much less pleasant ways to spend a couple months than helping Princess Clarke delay her own wedding.

*

"She's pretty, right?" Nate asks. The queen regent is giving a speech to introduce them before dinner, and they're waiting until they're summoned to take their seats. Clarke is by her mother; her dress is dark green with gold accents, but her crown is still silver. He's strangely glad of it; he likes the silver on her best. "I'm no expert on female beauty, but she definitely seems pretty."

"She's pretty," Bellamy confirms. "I still like her. She didn't grow out of speaking her mind and not standing on ceremony."

Nate claps him on the shoulder. "Then congratulations on your princess."

He hasn't asked Clarke about telling his friends about the plan; he thinks he's going to, he just hasn't done it yet. It would be useful to have some help, honestly. Not a massive conspiracy, but things going wrong when both he and Clarke are accounted for wouldn't be the worst thing.

Until he talks to her, though, he knows his lines.

"Thanks. It could have turned out pretty badly."

"Hey, it still could."

Bellamy snorts. "Thanks, Nate. Really puts everything in perspective."

"Any time."

"Prince Bellamy of Olympia," says the queen regent, and Bellamy goes to stand on Clarke's left, in the seat that will be his for the duration of his stay. He ducks his head a little in recognition, and Clarke smiles at him.

The queen regent introduces Sir Nathan, Lady Raven, and Maid Octavia, and Bellamy catches Clarke's scowl. Once they're eating he murmurs, "Some problem with my sister?"

"If I were King Delphinius, I would have found a title for her. She's a prince's sister, she should have a title. Otherwise it's just--"

"Reminding me I'm not really part of the family," he supplies. "I'm used to that."

"As if that makes it better," she says, scowling. "It's not as if you or she did anything wrong. Punishing a child for the circumstances of his birth is--"

Bellamy has to smile. "I never said I agreed with them. But your outrage on my behalf is appreciated." He glances at Octavia, who's seated at a lower table with Raven and Nate, as well as Clarke's adviser Lincoln and some nobles he has yet to meet. She's smiling, chatting easily, looks happy. It was the right thing, bringing her. "They tried to raise her to a useful profession when we first came to the palace, but their idea of what's useful and hers are very different."

"She wasn't going to be a seamstress like your mother? You were going to be a tailor."

He's momentarily stunned that she remembered, but recovers quickly. "No, I don't think she would have taken to it. I've always been better at doing my duty than she has."

"Which explains why you're here, marrying a woman you don't know to please a family you don't like."

"You have such a way with words. It's a wonder you aren't renowned as an orator, princess."

"Give me time," she says, and he grins at her.

It's an enjoyable meal that sets the tone for Bellamy's first few days in the Arcadian palace. The queen regent seems to approve of him, at least in so far as she doesn't prevent his spending a lot of time with Clarke, and Clarke says her mother's official statement is that she's glad they're getting along.

"You sound surprisingly upset about that," he observes. Octavia is showing off her riding skills for Gina, the head of Clarke's Queensguard, and he and Clarke are watching both because he loves seeing his sister in her element and because they can talk in relative privacy, being in view of any number of people, but not close enough for anyone to overhear. They don't have any interest in sneaking off for a tryst; all they really want to do without anyone around is talk to each other. They have a wedding to derail, after all.

"It's not that I'm upset," Clarke says. "I know she wants me to be happy and fond of you. She's my mother, of course she wants what's best for me. But she acts as if it's a surprise, as if I didn't pick you myself because you were the best option."

"You haven't seen me for ten years, though," he points out. "I could have decided I liked being a royal and you wouldn't like me anymore."

"Your knight master was Lady Anya of Torin," Clarke says, not looking at him. "By every account I've heard, she's irritable, hates the nobility, and you had to beg her to take you on."

"I've mentioned I find your spying on me creepy, haven't I?"

"You have."

"Just checking."

"Because of my creepy spying, I know you had other offers. From highly ranked nobles in the court, even some of your royal family. And you went with her." She smiles at him, and it's still a lot to take in, her smile. He assumes he'll get used to it. "I wasn't worried about not liking you, Bellamy."

"Lucky you. I didn't have a _network of spies_ , so--"

"Don't exaggerate. I have maybe three spies. Maximum."

"I have zero spies, so I was just hoping you were like I heard you were."

"And am I?"

Octavia is finishing off her ride, grinning as she sees she hit every target, and it gives Bellamy something to focus on other than Clarke. Because in a lot of ways, she's like he thought she'd be, headstrong and confident, aware of the needs of her peasants, as well as her nobles, not perfect, but doing her best. He thinks she'll be a good queen.

But none of the reports told him about _her_. She's grumpy for the first few hours of the day, refuses to have public audiences until well into the morning so she won't take it out on people. She still likes to draw, and does it when she's meeting with people who know her, people she isn't worried about offending. Everyone in the palace calls her Clarke, or sometimes _princess_ , but in an affectionate way, more like a nickname than a title. 

She's stubborn and sarcastic and determined, and he wasn't really ready for her at all, even though she was all those things when she was eight. He assumed that royalty would have stomped it out of her, but--he can _talk_ to Clarke. He's not used to feeling so comfortable with people, and he was sure the last time was a fluke.

"I thought you'd be taller," he tells her, and she bumps her shoulder against his, companionable.

It's not as if he _forgets_ about their impending marriage, or lack thereof. Just for a while, it's easy to think of her as a friend he's visiting, just because he wanted to spend time with her.

Five days after he arrives, she says, "I think it's time for me to meet your friends. We can talk strategy," and that feels like the real beginning. Once his friends find out, Octavia will stop teasing him about drooling over the princess and Nate and Raven will stop casually mentioning how much they like his palace. Which will be nice, honestly; he's not getting any of this, and he'll be happier not being reminded of that every time one of his friends wants to rib him.

"Do I get to meet your friends?"

"Obviously. It's going to be a gathering. Nobles love gatherings. Very proper."

"Sounds fun, can't wait."

"Be nice or I won't give you any of the expensive wine I'm bringing."

"I'm always nice," he says, and grins when she rolls her eyes.

The gathering is held in Clarke's private sitting room, where Bellamy hasn't actually been before. From what he can tell, Clarke prefers to not spend time in her own rooms, and once he sees the chamber, he understands why. It doesn't feel much like _Clarke_.

It's a small gathering, which makes sense, given they're planning to sabotage a royal wedding. It's not the kind of thing they want to spread around any more than is absolutely necessary.

Bellamy's brought Octavia, Nate, and Raven, since he has no one else to bring and trusts all three of them, while Clarke has Maya, Lincoln, and the royal astronomer, Monty. He doesn't know any of them very well, but he likes Lincoln, for all he's quiet, and Maya and Monty are always friendly when he talks to them. And Clarke trusts them, which is apparently all he really needs now is for Clarke to trust people. Her word is enough for him.

Octavia's the first to speak, once they're assembled. She looks around at the gathered group and says, "So, this is the wedding party?"

Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look. 

"Kind of the exact opposite," Clarke says, slow.

"The anti-wedding party," Bellamy agrees.

"We're not getting married," she continues.

"But in a very specific, calculated way."

Bellamy's a better speaker than Clarke, so he's the one who explains, even though it was really her plan. It still makes sense to him; it's awful, lining up suitors for an eight-year-old girl and making a production of marrying her off to the most politically advantageous person before she's legally old enough to make the choice herself. And they don't do that to their boys.

"So we're going to make sure the wedding can't happen until Clarke is eighteen."

"And then it happens anyway?" Monty asks, sounding dubious.

"Then she gets to marry whoever she wants whenever she wants," Bellamy says. "You don't have anyone in mind, right?"

"Nope," Clarke agrees. "I just want to pick."

Their friends are looking--he's not sure. Confused, maybe. Or thoughtful. They're exchanging glances like they're having their own conversation too, and Bellamy shifts a little, uncomfortably aware that he and Clarke are leaning together a little. He does _like_ Clarke. That's why he's helping her.

Lincoln's the first to break the silence. "I already knew, so Clarke already knows my opinion on this."

"You made this plan when you were _eight_?" Nate asks. Bellamy can't tell if he's impressed or horrified.

"Not the whole one. But of all the people who got offered as matches for me, Bellamy seemed like the one most likely to agree to come back and screw up the arrangement with me and actually follow through on it," Clarke says, giving Bellamy a warm smile he is powerless not to return. "And he did, so I made the right choice."

Raven finally says, "I don't get it. You really think you're going to do _better_ than Bellamy for a king?"

Clarke blinks, like the question had never crossed her mind. He's hurt until she says, "Of course not. But this is a bad tradition, and if I don't fight it now, who says I'll even have a chance to later? I might not have any daughters, and if I don't--" She shrugs. "My father was a good man and still upheld this stupid arrangement. My children might do the same. It's not about Bellamy. It's about Arcadia. I could just declare it illegal, but--I think it's better if I reject it."

Raven raises her eyebrows, and he holds his hands up. "Like Clarke said, it's not about me. It's her kingdom, I'm just here to help."

"So, how exactly do you prevent a royal wedding?" Nate asks, leaning forward. "This sounds fun. I'm in."

"Everyone else?" Clarke asks. "You don't have to participate if you don't want to, but I trust you won't tell anyone about this."

"I still think you should just marry Bellamy," Raven says. "But sure, I'm in. I'm always up for a little chaos."

The others agree as well, and Clarke and Bellamy go into planning mode. With their friends in on it, it's easy to find time to figure things out, Maya or Lincoln acting as chaperone as the two of them review wedding arrangements and figure out shipments that could be held up, guests who could be waylaid, and important documents that could go missing.

Honestly, it's a lot of fun. Clarke has a knack for manipulating people, a skill for saying the right thing to fluster someone and set them off course or goading her mother and Kane into an argument about something unimportant, keeping them from the actual business of planning the wedding for hours at a time. 

Bellamy's skills tend more toward tactical planning, and he's the one who figures out where a downed bridge would help them without seriously impacting any other business and which roadsigns could be switched to delay announcements. His priority is slowing down the wedding without collateral damage, and Clarke admits it wouldn't have occurred to her.

"I know it inconveniences other people," she says. "But it didn't occur to me how much worse missing a delivery by a day is when you're worried about not being able to feed your family."

"Lose a day of work, probably get docked pay for being late, and if any of the product spoiled--"

"I get it," she says, with a rueful smile. "I didn't think about it this time, but I will next time."

He believes her, which is nice. It feels like he's doing some good, on top of enjoying himself. If nothing else, when he leaves Arcadia, the queen will put more thought into her citizens' needs. As legacies go, it isn't a bad one.

Lincoln knows about people, so he suggests couriers who will lag because they're drunk, ambassadors who will be upset about seating plans, and merchants who will haggle over prices. Octavia has a talent for setting up roadblocks, while Nate and Raven enjoy causing general mayhem. It's a good group of friends they have.

Anything they can do to make the whole thing take longer, they do.

The disappointing thing is, they don't really _do_ much.

"I was imagining us robbing stagecoaches or something," he tells Clarke. It's just over five weeks to her birthday; they'll finalize the wedding date soon. He's reading with her propped up against his legs, drawing a map for Octavia and Lincoln, who are going to set a few traps for the tailor who's on his way.

"Tempting, but I have plenty of money."

"Don't brag."

"Do you not?"

"I do, but I'm pretty sure I should have more. I got my father's estate when I reached majority, but no one ever told me what kind of a salary a prince was supposed to get, and it's not like I'm going to ask them for money."

"After this, we should review your finances," she says, almost absent. "Make sure they aren't mistreating you."

"Oh, definitely."

"We should definitely do that or they're definitely mistreating you?"

"The second. But if you're so curious about my finances, the first too. I do fine, Clarke. Better than I should be doing."

"That's bullshit," she says, much harsher than he expected. When he looks down, she's got her head tilted back, staring up at him fiercely. "You've been--I don't even know if _lucky_ is the right word. Your mother died and your father's family took you in. That's _normal_. They're supposed to do that. People aren't royalty because they deserve it, it's because they were born into it, and you deserve it as much as any of us do. More, because--you _think about it_ , Bellamy. You're going to use this and do good. And you're going to help me do better too. So--don't act like it's all right, that your own family thinks you're--"

"A bastard," he supplies. He leans down, presses his lips against her forehead. It feels so natural that it doesn't occur to him that it's not until after he's done it. "I'm just a bastard by birth," he says, hoping to distract her from what he's actually doing. "The rest of my family are bastards by choice. So I'm coming out ahead. But I appreciate your--I'm glad you're looking out for me."

She smiles, looks back down at her map. Apparently she didn't think the kissing thing was worth remarking on either, which means either it was natural or she's being polite. Either way, he's never doing that again.

"You know, if you want to get involved, we could do this instead of Lincoln and Octavia. It's nothing we _couldn't_ do. I assume you're good at this stuff."

"How are we getting out?"

Clarke grins up at him. "You're my betrothed and I adore you. My mother no longer thinks it's odd that I spend time with you, and I don't think she's ever thought much of my virtue. Which she shouldn't."

Bellamy blinks. "She shouldn't?"

His tone must give him away, because Clarke glances over her shoulder, and then comes up to sit next to him. "Sorry, I guess that was weird to just say."

"None of my business."

She bumps her shoulder against his. "It's a little your business. Some men care about their wives' virtue."

"I'm not marrying you."

"When I was sixteen, I had a tutor. She was--beautiful. Very strict. Not much older than me, younger than you, but--I don't know. She felt grown up to me, so when she was interested in me, I was flattered. And I wasn't--" She ducks her head. "I never really thought of men, because men were always tied up in _marriage_ , and that wasn't something I wanted to think about. But I was curious about women, so when she asked--" She shrugs. "If I ever end up in a situation where I have to say I've never been with a man on pain of death, I can honestly say that I haven't. But I don't think I have much by way of virtue left."

"I don't think you need it," he says. "That's the point, isn't it? We put off the wedding until you get to make up your own mind. And I'm pretty sure if you get to pick your husband, you're not going to pick anyone who cares about your virtue." He grins. "You know, if you're looking for someone for procreation and you'd rather be with a woman, Nate prefers men, so--"

She laughs. "No, I like both. I'd rather just have a husband I like."

"You will," he says. "So, your mother doesn't care about your virtue, so you're going to tell her I'm going to ravish you, and we'll really go and set up some traps in the forest?"

"I was going to tell her we're having a picnic."

"The ravishing sounds more realistic."

"I think she'll read between the lines. Tomorrow afternoon? Tell your sister we have it." She pauses, pecks him on the cheek. "Have I thanked you today?"

"Not today," he manages.

"Thanks, Bellamy."

"You're welcome," he says, and gives himself a minute before he goes to talk to his sister.

The problem with talking to basically all his friends is that they still think he should marry Clarke, because apparently destroying traditions and a general distaste for monarchies and politics isn't a good enough reason, in their minds, to not marry a princess.

He's been avoiding his best argument, that the princess doesn't want to marry _him_ , because he doesn't know if it would be worse if they agreed or disagreed. But he's pretty sure Octavia is going to be very smug about him and Clarke going out to do these traps themselves. Really, though, he's just looking forward to getting out of the palace. He's been doing so much _politicking_ since he got here, and even if most of it is with Clarke, whom he likes, the idea of taking a horse and going somewhere far away, of just--

Honestly, he's looking forward to being properly alone with Clarke. Even when they're alone in the palace, Maya is around, somewhere close, and Bellamy's pretty sure she's purposefully giving them space, because, well, again. For a group of people who are united in helping him and Clarke not get married, all their friends are very convinced they want to get married.

Octavia's been training to join the Queensguard, but since she has a good deal of experience already, she's just taking the morning classes and has her afternoons free to do what she likes. She's still not _happy_ in palaces, but she likes the Arcadian one better than the Olympian one, and once she's a full member of the guard, she'll be traveling throughout the kingdom.

Bellamy thinks she'll be happy here; it makes him happy and a little melancholy all at once. He hates thinking he and his sister belong different places.

It's afternoon, so he checks the stables first, isn't surprised to find her there, grooming her horse.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

"So, you and Lincoln are off tomorrow."

"Off?"

He glances around; there are a few other people in the stables, so he tries to be a little circumspect. "You don't have to do anything. No wedding responsibilities."

To his surprise, she scowls. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"Who's doing it?"

"Me and Clarke. We need a break, so we're going on a picnic. We'll cover the wedding stuff while we're out."

Octavia huffs. "You're _already marrying her_ ," she says, pointed. "Why do you need to go on a picnic? Now I'm going to have to find another excuse to spend time with Lincoln."

He frowns. "You're trying to spend time with Lincoln?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"He's older than I am."

"Only a year. And who cares? I like him."

Bellamy rubs his face. "You really are going to stay here, aren't you?"

She looks around, but there are still people around, so she just says, "It's a good place to stay. Much better than Olympia. I hope Nate and Raven stay too."

Bellamy's pretty sure Nate's been flirting with Monty, and he doesn't know about Raven, but--she does seem to like Arcadia.

He likes Arcadia too, but it's probably weird to move in somewhere after you help the princess destroy her arranged marriage. Especially when you were the one she was supposed to be marrying. Even if Clarke likes him, it would be awkward.

"Yeah," he says, because what else can he say, really? "I hope so too."

*

Clarke is waiting for him outside with a couple horses, dressed in britches and a loose shirt, with her hair braided away from her face. She looks younger than he's ever seen, maybe even when she was _eight_. She's excited and unburdened and so beautiful she makes his breath catch.

"I guess you've been wanting to get out of here too, huh?"

"I usually have more time to myself," she says.

"This isn't really time with yourself," he points out.

"No, but time with you is better," she says, and he mounts the horse so she won't see his face. "And we're free for the whole afternoon. My mother said she expected us to be home for dinner, but I think she was glad we were taking some time for ourselves."

"She's going to be so disappointed when we destroy the wedding."

"She is," Clarke agrees. "But--she didn't grow up with this. Not the same way. She was nineteen when she married my father. It was arranged, but--she agreed to it. She made her own choices and said her own vows."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way."

"I know." She wets her lips. "I do feel guilty. All this time and money being put into the wedding, and--"

"Get on your horse, I'll make you feel better on the way."

She laughs and mounts her own horse. "You will?"

"Well, think of how much good you're doing for the common people. Innkeepers will get an influx of business, you're buying a lot of food and supplies, and the next time you get married, you'll have to do it all again. Double the profit for everyone." He glances over, smiles at her. "And I do think you're doing the right thing, opposing this tradition."

"Obviously, or you would have told my mother."

"Huh," he says, thoughtful. "I wonder if that would have worked. I guess she probably could have found someone else to marry you with two months' notice."

"I'm a princess," she says, a sigh in her voice. "There are plenty of advantages, but the number of men who would marry me with no notice for their own gain isn't one of them. She wouldn't have had any trouble."

"Good thing I'm on your side, then."

She ducks her head. "It's the best thing."

They brought a picnic, because they're going to be gone all afternoon with nothing else to eat and it would be suspicious if they hadn't brought anything. So they set up a few roadblocks and traps, nothing fatal or dangerous, just enough to slow down a few scheduled caravans, and then Clarke takes him to a patch of bright grass by a stream to eat.

"I used to come here with my father," she tells him. She's stretched out on her back, basking in a pool of sunshine. Bellamy can't stop looking at her, but her eyes are closed, so at least she doesn't know that. 

"Yeah?"

"I think not liking being royalty runs in the Arcadian royal blood," she says, and he laughs.

"Just what you want in your royal bloodline."

"It's not that I don't like being a leader," she says. "But--I don't like being this kind of leader."

"You could try to abolish the monarchy," he says, making it a joke, but her voice is steady when she responds, "One thing at a time."

Maybe she won't need a king. Maybe she'll break the kingdom apart and make it better. He'd like to see her do it.

When they get back to the palace, Lincoln is waiting for them, looking unruffled as ever. Bellamy really likes Lincoln, but he's not ready to process Octavia liking Lincoln to, or Octavia being old enough to like anyone. She's not even a full year younger than Clarke, but--she's his _sister_. 

Then Lincoln says, "Wells is here," and Clarke's face breaks out in the biggest grin Bellamy has ever seen, and any questions he had about Lincoln leave his mind, because--Wells must be Prince Wells of Jahara, and Bellamy has no idea what he's doing here.

"Already?" Clarke asks.

"Apparently he heard some of your wedding supplies had been delayed and thought he could help," Lincoln says, straight-faced, and Clarke grins.

"How helpful of him. Where is he?"

"In his usual chambers. I told him I'd send you when you made it back."

Clarke dismounts and looks up at Bellamy, expectant. "Aren't you coming?"

"I don't want to interrupt," he says.

"You won't be. And Wells is going to want to meet you. He's been writing me incessantly."

Bellamy hadn't heard anything about letters either, but Clarke is waiting for him, and he has no good reason not to go with her. So he dismounts himself, follows her through the palace to the royal wing. Wells' room is closer to hers than his is, and it's _absurd_ that he's worrying about this. There's no way Prince Wells can marry Clarke, because he's first in line for the throne of Jahara, and unless the two kingdoms are planning to merge, he can't marry someone with a throne of her own. Besides, he's _not marrying Clarke_. So if she does want to marry Prince Wells, once she hasn't married him, it's her business, not his.

No matter how many times he tells himself that, it doesn't work; he's jealous. He's _jealous_ of Prince Wells, and he is absolutely being an idiot.

"Wells!" says Clarke, knocking once on the door and then pushing it open and launching herself at the prince. He's taller than Bellamy and much darker, and he catches Clarke and hugs her back just as fiercely as she's holding him.

Bellamy tries not to fidget. It's the first time he's really felt like he doesn't fit in with Clarke, and it makes him itch. Which is stupid, because they barely know each other, but when she slides out of Wells' arms and beams at Bellamy, he still feels a lurch of hurt.

"This is my best friend, Wells," she says, and that's even worse. Not that he thought he was her best friend or anything, they barely know each other, but-- "Wells, this is Bellamy, my betrothed."

But once she stops introducing him as her betrothed, they'll be nothing.

"It's an honor to meet you, your highness," Bellamy says, and bows.

Clarke comes over, takes his hand and pulls him to Wells. "You don't have to be polite with him either."

"It's an honor to meet you too," says Wells, bowing himself and then offering Bellamy his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

He knows the polite thing to say here is that he's also heard a lot about Wells, but he hasn't, and he somehow doesn't feel like lying about it. But Clarke picks it up for him. "I never talk about you."

Wells snorts. "You're pretty busy destroying your own wedding."

Bellamy glances around reflexively, but they're alone. Clarke bumps her shoulder against his. "Wells has known I don't want an arranged marriage since before I even met you."

"Good for him."

She finally seems to notice his mood, and she squeezes his fingers. Maybe she didn't hug him, but she hasn't let go of his hand. That's something.

"I didn't think you'd make it this early," she tells Wells, and then for Bellamy's benefit adds, "He's earning his shield now."

"Sir Nyko was injured. My knight master," he clarifies. "Nothing life-threatening, but he'll be off his leg for a few months, so I'm here until the wedding and he hopes he'll have found another master for me by the time it's done."

"It's good to see you," Clarke says, and Bellamy manages a smile. 

"No change in plans?" Wells asks, looking between the two of them. "Still putting off the wedding as long as possible?"

"Just until after my birthday," Clarke says. She squeezes his hand again. "Bellamy's got our master plan. Want to see?"

The worst part, he decides, as he and Clarke walk Wells through their last week of supply sabotage, is that he _likes_ Wells. It's not a surprise, because he likes all of Clarke's friends, but he wants to resent the prince and can't manage even that.

"It's too bad you can't marry him," he tells Clarke, when he's walking her back to her rooms to dress for dinner. He finds he even means it.

"Who, Wells?"

"Yeah. He'd be a good king."

"He's like my brother," she says, making a face. "I love him, but--I wouldn't want to marry him. It's just as well I can't, or I would have been engaged to him before we could even talk."

"Oh," he says. "Yeah, I guess."

She bites her lip, smiles and leans up deliberately to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for today. It was--good. Perfect."

"Yeah," he says, mouth dry. "It was pretty great."

*

Sunlight is streaming into Bellamy's room, and Clarke is pressed up against his chest, warm and solid in his arms, her hair spilling over her bare shoulders. Even in her sleep, she's smiling, and when Bellamy leans down to kiss her, she wakes up under his mouth, her arms coming up around him. He presses her down onto the bed, deepening the kiss, grinding his hips down.

"Bellamy," she murmurs, and he tries to kiss her _more_ , press in closer, because it's not enough, it never feels like enough. "Bell," she says again, desperate this time, and he--

The clock chimes eight, and he wakes up, alone in his own bed, desperately pressing his hips into the mattress.

They're setting a date for the wedding today, and he's going out of his mind.

It wasn't as if he hadn't known he liked Clarke before Wells showed up. Of course he liked her. But after the intense flare of jealousy, he's had trouble pretending he just _likes_ Clarke. He knows she's not going to marry him, but it turns out he's not prepared for her to marry anyone else either. Which is an unrealistic hope to have, with a princess who will become a queen in a month and will need an heir of her own.

The dreams aren't helping either. When she smiles at him, he'll have vivid images of her in his dreams, smiling at him as she wakes up in his arms, leaning up to kiss him slow and warm.

"One more month," he reminds himself, and rolls over to wrap his fingers around himself as he resolutely thinks of absolutely nothing at all.

They meet with the royal wedding committee at ten, and Clarke sags against his side, only half awake.

"You know, if you went to sleep earlier, this wouldn't happen," he tells her.

"Yes it would," she says, scowling. "Some of us weren't meant to function this early, Bellamy."

"When I was a page, I had to wake up at six. _That's_ early. This is mid-morning."

"I'm going to make it illegal to do anything important before eleven when I'm queen."

"Glad you're getting the corruption started right away."

The queen regent clears her throat, giving the two of them a somewhat indulgent smile. Bellamy doesn't exactly feel bad for lying to her, but he has to admit, anyone watching them knows he genuinely wants to marry Clarke. No one can be blamed for not seeing this coming.

"I believe we're ready to begin," the queen regent says pointedly.

"Speak for yourself," Clarke mutters, but she drags herself off Bellamy's shoulder and makes a passable attempt at looking like she's awake and alert.

He stifles his smile and turns his attention to Harper, the wedding planner. Admittedly, he feels unreservedly bad about Harper. She's a lovely young woman whose life he is definitely filling with a lot of unnecessary stress. On the other hand, she's being paid well and no one is blaming her, and she should emerge fairly unharmed from the entire mess in a month's time.

He and Clarke are really the only ones putting themselves at risk, and Clarke will be fine too. She's going to be queen, no matter what.

So maybe he's the only one who will end up hurt by this, after all.

"We're having an early winter, and it's been causing some problems with the wedding," says Harper, and it's as good an explanation as any. "So I've updated our timeline to reflect that. If you look at the first page of the report, you'll see--"

Clarke is sagging against him again in minutes, so he just pokes her in the side periodically and grins when she scowls at him. He can leave for a year, maybe. Long enough to get over her. And then he'll come back and they can just be friends. He can't just _lose her_. Not after this.

"You're my least favorite person," she mutters.

"I know." The queen regent is looking at them again, so he adds, "This is our wedding. You could pretend to be excited."

"Just wake me up when we're married."

He has absolutely no response to that, so he starts paying attention to the proceedings, as a defense mechanism. It's about as expected, a huge guest list, a completely unnecessary number of banquets and balls, and then, the day before Clarke's birthday, a wedding.

"The day before?" the queen regent asks, sounding dubious.

Harper blinks. "Is that a problem, my queen?"

Clarke is still propped on his shoulder, but Bellamy can tell from the tension in her back that she's not really asleep. Her mother's across the table, though, and when she looks at Clarke, she must not see anything suspicious.

"It's later than the ceremony usually is."

"Given how bad the roads have been, even before the snow starts, I thought it was best to leave the ceremony itself as late as possible. Then if our guests are delayed, they won't miss it. But if you'd rather--"

"No, that's fine," says the queen regent. She's still looking at Clarke, but it doesn't feel like suspicion. "Assuming the two of you don't mind waiting so long."

"We'll live," he says. "She's sleeping until we're married anyway."

Queen Abigail nods. "Then, yes, it's settled. We'll have the ceremony the night before the princess's birthday. You've done an exceptional job, Harper. We appreciate all your hard work."

Harper colors under the praise, and Bellamy gives her an encouraging smile of his own. She _has_ done an excellent job. She deserves credit for her hard work; he's honestly surprised the wedding isn't farther off track.

"So, what's the new plan?" he asks Clarke, once they're alone. "Try to get it pushed back to the day after your birthday?"

She shakes her head. "No, that won't work. She'll never change the date. You saw her, she cares about the tradition too much."

"Do you think she knows you're trying to get out of it?"

She clucks her tongue. "Honestly? No. I think--she knows I'm stubborn, but I don't think she thinks I'm _this_ stubborn. It's normal for her, like I said. We're clearly fond of each other, a lot closer than most royal couples are." There's a pause, and then she says, "You know if I was marrying anyone it would be you, don't you?"

His throat closes for a second. "What?" he manages.

"I don't want you to ever think it's that--you'd be a great husband, Bellamy. And a great king. Not getting married--it has nothing to do with you."

"I know," he says, and means it. She still looks upset, worried and guilty, and he hates it, so he adds, "We agreed, Clarke, remember? I didn't want to get married either. But if it goes wrong and I end up married to you--" It's a sentence he shouldn't have started, because now has has to finish it. "I won't mind," he finally says. It still feels like too much, so he adds, "So, yeah. What's the plan?"

"Keep up the delays," Clarke says. "It would be suspicious if they just stopped. But I think there's no reason for things to go _really_ wrong until a few days before the wedding."

"So, easy month?"

She snorts. "You wish. Wells is the good one. The rest of the guests are going to start showing up soon, and we're going to have to be entertaining all the time."

"Is it too soon for me to run away and leave you?"

"Way too soon."

"You should give me a castle for this. An entire province."

"I probably should," she agrees, easy. "It's the least I can do, after all I put you through." Her smile is teasing now. "Have I thanked you yet today?"

"Not unless you count falling asleep on me during an important meeting with your mother."

She laughs. "That's thanks for at least three days."

"I was thinking, yeah."

*

Unsurprisingly, the other royals really are the worst. It's not that Bellamy is unable to be diplomatic; of course he can be diplomatic. he knows all the right things to say and the correct bows and all of that, but he doesn't _like_ it. For every royal he likes, like Clarke and Wells, there are five more like his Olympian family and Clarke's mother. At best, they're distant and polite and utterly insincere; at worst, they look down on him as a bastard and resent that he was chosen for Clarke's husband, for all it makes perfect sense for everyone involved.

The worst part of the whole thing--aside from the part where he's not marrying Clarke--is that they'll be happy and probably feel vindicated when the wedding doesn't happen.

The only advantage of the parties is that he has Clarke by his side for them, instead of being alone like he was in Olympia. And Clarke is good at these things, slipping royalty-- _real_ royalty, the kind she so rarely uses--on like a cloak. She manages to be herself while still being a princess who's on the cusp of becoming a queen, and Bellamy's more than a little in awe of her.

"It's because you weren't born to it," she explains, sounding genuinely regretful to be saying it.

"I know."

She flops down next to him, her oversized skirts poofing up around her, making him smile. "I don't think you do. Do you want me to tell you?"

He frowns. "Tell me what?"

"Why you don't fit in. It's not just that you're a bastard. Or that everyone else is the other kind of bastard. Although they are."

He smiles, fond. "Yeah, tell me."

"It's because you know you don't fit. You're not confident enough of where you belong to know when to relax, which courtesies you can drop and which you can't. You think you're not one of us, so you fall back on rules, and--"

"And it's really just that I'm not one of you," he says, but--he gets what she means. Etiquette is something Clarke doesn't even remember learning; she's never doubted who she is, never had to work for it. He's been working every day for eleven years to figure out who he is, and he still doesn't feel like he knows. He's Octavia's brother. He's Nate and Raven's friend. He's a decent knight, but doesn't feel like much of an _Olympian_ knight.

He loves Clarke.

"You're not one of them," she says, so close to reading his mind. "You're one of mine."

"Yeah, you figured me out in five minutes. Had me wrapped around your little finger when you were _eight_."

She looks a little upset. "I wasn't trying to."

"No?"

"No. I just--" She actually blushes. "I _liked_ you. Your hair's always messy and you were fidgeting and you were saying all the right lines, but you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else. And I could get you away, so I did."

"I liked that you had charcoal on your face."

She grins. "That scared away some suitors all by itself."

"So, is your advice for me that I should make fun of all the royals like I make fun of you? Because that would probably start a war."

"No, just--you belong here, Bellamy." It's on the tip of his tongue to protest, but then she says, "You belong with me," and he couldn't argue with that even if he wanted to.

The next night, he tries to believe it. Not that these are his people, because they never will be, but that this is his place. That he's supposed to be here, that he could do _good_ here. That royalty is something he's supposed to have and he could use.

He could be the kind of ruler Clarke is, the kind who uses politeness as a weapon, who recognizes allies in seconds, who always knows just what to say. Or at least the kind who knows how to do what needs to be done.

Honestly, they make quite a team, once he gets the hang of it. Like she said, he might not belong to the Olympian royal family, but he belongs with _her_.

And he's not the only one. His friends are thriving here too. Octavia is slotting into the Queensguard with an ease that makes him both proud and terrified, and Raven is too, much to his shock. She and Gina are--he's not actually sure. Friends at the very least, possibly more. It's none of his business, but he's pretty sure she'll figure out a way to stay here too. And Nate's getting close to Monty, so--all the people he cares about most are going to be in the same place, probably. And there's nothing to stop him being with them too, except his own pride and heartbreak.

He watches every prince who comes, evaluates each one, tries to figure out if any of them would make a good partner for Clarke. And he doesn't think it's just his own bias that makes him dismiss them. Aside from Wells, none of them seem to really care much for Clarke. She's not easy with any of them. She bickers with Prince Roan, but there's too much edge and not much affection. Prince Finn flirts with her, but her smiles seem forced.

Maybe she doesn't have to marry a prince, if she has her choice of it. Maybe she can take her time and find the right person. Maybe she'll demolish the hereditary monarchy and marry a woman. She won't have to be in much of a rush, once she's queen. Even if most princesses are married by twenty, they don't start having children for a few more years after that. The Arcadian royal family is a little sparse, but she has heirs. She doesn't have to hurry.

His friends have been quiet about their opinions on Clarke's marriage for long enough that he'd assumed they stopped having them which was, in retrospect, ridiculous and over-optimistic. Instead, a few days before the official wedding celebrations kick off, Raven and Nate drag him off for a ride, which turns out to be an excuse to yell at him.

Again, in retrospect, he should have realized.

"So, we need to talk about this, because it's fucking _stupid_ ," Raven says.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at Nate, and Nate raises one shoulder. "Assume I'm with her on all of this."

"I don't even know what we're talking about."

"You're still planning to _not_ marry the princess."

"Yeah."

Raven considers and finally says, "Have you asked her?"

"Asked her what?"

" _Hey, Clarke, I am so obviously in love with you, do you want to just marry me because you're so obviously in love with me too_?" Raven says. She drops her voice all low and gravelly, which is not what he sounds like _at all_ , but that's kind of beside the point, because--

"She is?"

Raven rubs her face. "Nate, I'm going to stab him."

"No, you're not. And, yeah, she is."

"We've talked about it," he says. "It's not--she said it wasn't personal. She doesn't want to get married. She wants to make a change with how Arcadia does arranged marriages, and I do too. We've been on the same page with this for ten years. I'm not going to make it hard for her now."

Raven and Nate exchange a look. "But you want to marry her," Raven says, slow.

"Yeah. Of course I do. But--not a big deal." He pauses and then says, "I'll tell her after."

"After you don't marry her."

"I wouldn't even be marrying _her_ ," he points out. "Until she's eighteen, it's her mother who's consenting to the marriage, so--seriously, it would be weird. If she actually wants to get married once she's the queen, I'll tell her I'm interested. But this matters to her, and I'm not screwing it up."

There's a long pause, and finally Nate says, "This is absolutely the stupidest courtship I have ever heard of in my life. But as long as you're happy, whatever. I'll keep trying to screw up your wedding to the girl you're in love with and want to marry if you really want me to."

"I really do," he says. "Honestly, it's gonna increase my chances of marrying her."

"You guys are so fucking weird," Nate grumbles, and Bellamy smiles. They think she's in love with him too; it's the best news he's had all year.

"Yeah," he agrees. "We really are."

*

He hadn't really expected things to get _worse_ once the real celebrations began, although, as always, he should have. He never thought of himself as optimistic, but he just hadn't realized how terrible royal affairs could be. There had been various dinners and events with the guests, but he and Clarke hadn't been the focus. Even if people wanted to talk to them and try to politic with them, they weren't constantly the center of attention.

Now they are. Now it's him and Clarke _all the time_ performing ceremonies and being toasted and sitting at the head of every table. He'd had some training before, Arcadian history and deportment, the same kind of lessons he'd had when he became a prince in Olympia, just for a different country. Like everything else, the lessons reach a new level in the week leading up to the wedding, but at least Clarke is involved now too, the pair of them reciting every line they'll have to say in the day's rituals so often he thinks he'll have nightmares about it for years to come.

"It's a good thing we're not trying to sabotage this," he says on the third day. The celebratory ball only just ended, and it's almost one in the morning. They have a state breakfast at eight, and Clarke is already angry about it. Bellamy should go back to his own rooms and go to sleep, but for all he's spent all day with her, it feels like they haven't really been _together_. And if this is his last week with her, he wants to make it count. "We don't have any time to screw things up."

"We're bad at proper dining. And I keep forgetting my lines on purpose."

"I keep forgetting mine by accident."

"You have more than I do."

"Just because my mother doesn't take over for me in the middle of half the ceremonies."

She yawns hugely. "Your mother is dead, so that would be difficult."

The couch is comfortable and he doesn't care that he's wearing a suit which could feed a family for a year if they sold it. He has so little time left. So he wraps his arm around Clarke and pulls her against him, tucking her against his chest. She comes with him easily as he stretches out, and her hand comes up over his, tangling their fingers together.

"I'm just doing this because I'm worried you won't make it to the breakfast if I don't make you," he says, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in. He's going to remember this, when everything's over. However it ends.

"I won't," she agrees. "Lincoln's stalling everywhere he can. He's claiming he just wants everything to be perfect."

"Mmm."

"And I'll--" She yawns again. "I'll rip my dress. Whatever I can do. You shouldn't do anything. Nothing obvious. It would be worse for you if someone caught you."

"I won't." He kisses her hair, soft. "I promise I won't marry you on Saturday."

If she notices the specificity, she doesn't mention it.

She might already be asleep.

*

Bellamy's wedding day dawns bright and cold. The first snow of the year was only a few days earlier, and it's still lingering on the ground and in the palace windows. It's a lovely day, if you don't mind the frost and the chill, and Bellamy doesn't. He's always mostly liked winter, even if the Arcadian winter is harsher than the Olympian ones.

He's not supposed to see Clarke until the ceremony, which is frustrating because the ceremony isn't until the evening. It was supposed to be in the afternoon, but the minister was delayed because of snow (Octavia), and a minister is fairly important for a wedding. He gets to see members of the wedding party as he prepares, but since his wedding is a state affair, his wedding party isn't Nate, like he would have chosen, and instead all his royal cousins, who are worse company than no company at all. Prince Arthur is fine, honestly, a quiet and who wishes Bellamy no specific ill that he's been able to sense. Prince Valerian is an ass, but he's nothing compared to Prince Marcus, who insists on ribbing Bellamy about the wedding night. In his defense, he _might_ think it's friendly ribbing, but given he and Bellamy aren't and never have been friends, Bellamy's not much inclined to be charitable.

"She's quite a prize, I'll give you that much," Marcus is saying, while Bellamy tries to focus on his vows. "Valerian's betrothed is a cow."

"A cow with a great dowry," says Valerian. "The richest heifer at the fair."

 _I accept the stewardship of Arcadia and of her princess until such time as she may rise to become queen_ , Bellamy tells himself.

"But Princess _Clarke_ ," says Marcus. "She's the kind of girl who could teach you a thing or two, I'd wager. If she hasn't already. The two of you are awfully close. And no one ever bothers to chaperone you. I should have gone for her. Didn't know she'd grow up so--" He makes a rude gesture at his chest, and Valerian snickers. " _Ripe_."

On the one hand, Bellamy knows Clarke doesn't want him to permanently damage his own reputation to delay the marriage, but murdering his cousin is sounding better and better, and it would certainly be hard to have the wedding when they were dealing with the death of a royal prince. "That's my future wife you're talking about," he says, jaw set. "And I'd appreciate it if you shut up about her."

"Come on, Bellamy. We're _family_. Don't hold out on us."

"Well, since we're family," he says. "If you shut up, I won't punch you in the jaw."

He's actually a little disappointed when it works, not least because Marcus was the only one talking, and even if silence is a definite improvement over what he was actually saying, it still makes for a boring day.

Octavia shows up around midday and says he has _last-minute fittings_.

"You are the best sister in the entire world."

"I really thought one of them would be bleeding. How is no one bleeding?"

"I'm intimidating. I just had to threaten to punch him in the jaw."

"You should have done it. To teach the others a lesson."

"It was close. Where are we going?"

She grins over her shoulder. "It's your _wedding day_. I don't care about anything else, we're having a party."

"You know I have to be sober for my wedding, right? It's _my wedding_. I have so fucking many lines I can barely remember them already."

Octavia opens up the door to her own chambers; Nate and Raven are there, of course, but he's more surprised to see Lincoln and Monty, and even Wells. All his friends, except Clarke and Maya, who are busy with Clarke's preparations.

"Do you even need to say your lines? Besides, the ceremony isn't until eight now."

"Eight?"

"The door to the great hall wasn't locked properly and some children having a snowball fight made it in. They were chastised, but not found to be malicious, just lost and lucky. They managed to do a lot of damage."

Octavia hands him a goblet of wine, and he raises it to Lincoln. "You guys have done an amazing job delaying my wedding. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Which I'm still not convinced would have been a bad thing," Raven says into her goblet.

"It would have," Wells says, surprising Bellamy. "Clarke doesn't want an arranged marriage. It doesn't matter how much she likes Bellamy. This isn't about her, not really. It's about Arcadia."

"Exactly," Bellamy agrees. "I'm sitting with you. You get it."

"I'm just glad _you_ get it," Wells says, clinking his wine against Bellamy's. "She's so fucking stubborn."

"I know," he says, fond. "I can't believe you started my wedding party without me. And left me with my asshole cousins. I could have been drunk."

"You had wine there."

"I didn't want to be drunk with my asshole cousins on my wedding day. I want to be drunk with my _friends_ on my wedding day."

"Cheers to that," says Octavia. "Happy wedding, big brother. We're gonna make sure you're still single at the end of the day."

He puts his arm around her and presses his lips to her temple. "Thanks, O. Means the world to me."

It's a nice party, and his only regret is that Clarke is missing out on it. But he hopes she's at least having fun subtly winding her mother up and delaying the wedding as much as she can. It's the fun she can have.

He has to go back to his chambers way too soon, because he still might have duties, but everyone hugs him and wishes him luck, and it's--nice. His friends are happy for him. It's still somewhat unclear what they're happy about, except that if he's having all the bother of a wedding, he might as well have some of the good parts as well. Things like drinking with his friends and being congratulated.

"Wedding's not until eight," he tells his cousins. "Some kids got into the hall." He's got a deck of cards, and it seems like by far the safest thing to do until they have official duties. "Everyone know how to play poker?"

The wedding gets pushed back no farther than eight, which means that they just have to make the ceremony last four hours. Bellamy can forget a lot of his lines. He's prepared. Lincoln probably has a few diversions set up, to be on the safe side. Four hours is _nothing_. They've already put off the wedding for a week.

They're so close.

And then the minister says, "In the interest of expedience, we will be shortening the traditional ceremony. Due to circumstances outside our control, the ceremony itself was delayed, and there are other traditions to be upheld once it is complete. We beg the audience's indulgence."

Everyone's spent the whole day unable to do anything because the wedding time kept shifting, so no one's upset. Clarke isn't here yet--she'll be walking the aisle with Lincoln, since her father has passed--so he can't get a sense of how bad this is, but--it's bad. It must be bad. The ceremony is two hours in its full form, so getting expedited version up to four seems ambitious even for them.

The minister gives the formal welcome and introduction, and then he invites the bride in.

Clarke is beautiful, of course. It's a surprise and not a surprise all at once, because she's lovely all the time, and he loves her all the time, but it's not like _this_. Her hair has been curled more than usual, and it's loose over her shoulders. Her crown is silver and sparkling, and her dress floats around her.

More than anything, she's walking to _him_ , looking at _him_ , and for a wild second, he thinks maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if they just let the ceremony happen.

If he just married her.

The minister tells him to take her hands, so he does, squeezes her cold fingers and smiles at her. Her returning smile is weak, and he knows she's worried too. That she won't get to do this. That her plan was all for nothing. Ten years of waiting, and she isn't going to do it.

"Arcadia," says the minister. "We come together today to give away a daughter, and to gain a son."

The Arcadians have a special ceremony for when one of their princesses marries, and it is honestly so gross. The whole thing treats Clarke like a piece of property, one that Arcadia owns and gives to Bellamy, and it's honestly the last way he ever wants to marry Clarke. Even if she wants to marry him, this isn't _her_. This is Arcadia making an alliance.

He rubs his thumb against the soft skin of her wrist, all silent reassurance. It's been a half an hour, and neither of them has had to say a word.

"Arcadia," says the minister. 

"Yes," says Queen Abigail.

"Do you give your daughter to this man?"

"Yes."

"Prince," says the minister.

He doesn't delay on purpose; his mouth has gone dry. "Yes," he manages.

"Arcadia offers you her daughter. Will you accept her?"

It's so easy. "No."

Everything is very surreal for a minute. Clarke's hands tense in his, her mother's jaw drops, there are gasps and murmurs and a general upset among the guests. The minister doesn't seem to notice; he says, "Arcadia, our daught--" and then stops and says, "No?"

"Nope," he says. "I won't take her."

The queen regent says, "Clarke," low and dangerous, like she's the one who did it.

"She can give herself to whoever she wants when she's able to," he says, clear and loud, so everyone will hear. "I won't take her."

Everyone's still staring, and he honestly has no idea how to follow the statement, so he leans down, kisses Clarke on the cheek, and leaves.

*

As dramatic exits go, it gets the job done, but he sort of wishes he knew what was happening. It's possible the queen will pull someone out of the audience to marry her daughter before the deadline, but he kind of doubts it. And since he's already publicly refused to take her, it would be weird if he changed his mind as soon as someone else expressed interest.

So he goes to his rooms, pours a glass of wine, and settles in with a book of poetry Clarke loaned him. He's done his part; he can't really contribute anything to the conversation until after midnight. And even after that, it's up to Clarke.

The first person to arrive is Ambassador Kane, along with King Delphinius. Bellamy's only spoken to the king a handful of times, but none of them has been pleasant.

He assumes this one will be horrific on a previously untold level, but Clarke will be queen tomorrow. Unless they forcibly drag him out of Arcadia for immediate execution tonight, he thinks she'll give him asylum. She owes him.

"Bellamy," says Kane, in a tone Bellamy hasn't heard from the ambassador since he was twelve. "What was that."

It's not even a question, the way he says it.

"She only agreed to marry me if I wouldn't marry her," he says, leaning against the door frame. "We made a deal."

"A _deal_?" asks the king. "You're--do you have any idea what you've done? You've destroyed Arcadia's faith in Olympia, if we go to _war_ over this--"

"Over this?" he asks. "She's going to be queen tomorrow."

"And you refused her hand."

"Because she wanted me to." He crosses his arms over his chest. He's not taller than the king or the ambassador, but he's broad and strong and young, and he really hates both of them right now. "Honestly, I'd bet everything I've got that I'm her favorite person in Olympia. So if you don't want to ruin her good opinion of you, I'd say you should be nice to me. But it's up to you. I really don't care."

"You have dishonored--"

"Did you have a point?" he asks. "Did you want to exile me? Sentence me to death? I've had a pretty long day, so if you're here to threaten me or disown me or whatever, can you get it over with?"

The king looks murderous, but Bellamy still feels strangely calm. After all, it's over. He didn't marry Clarke. He did it.

It occurs to him to ask, "Oh, did her mother make her marry someone else? Is that why you're angry at me? Someone else made the connection to the throne you wanted?"

Kane's jaw twitches. "No. There was no wedding."

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Then, yeah. I'd stay on my good side, if it worked."

King Delphinius disowns him, strips him of his title and his shield, and banishes him for good measure, which is the opposite of what Bellamy would have done, but he'll probably rethink it when he finds out Clarke still likes him. Which he's pretty sure she does. And, in all honesty, he does not care if he doesn't rethink it.

He still thinks she might marry him, once everything else is cleared up. That's all that really matters to him right now.

Octavia shows up next, and she just asks, "Are you good?"

"I'm good."

"Did she know you were going to do that?"

"Probably not. She never asked me to. She never wanted me to have to refuse to marry her or anything."

She nods. "Are you still going to ask her to marry you?"

"Probably."

"Good. That was--" She grins. "You really made a scene, Bell."

"What happened after I left?"

She shrugs. "Chaos, basically. Clarke was _grinning_. I was surprised she didn't run after you."

"Yeah, well, she's got stuff to do."

"Everyone started talking all at once, half the dignitaries left, probably to send messengers that Clarke didn't get married or just gossip among themselves. Everyone else was kind of waiting to see what happened next, but Queen Abigail just told us to leave. I thought the minister was going to faint."

"King Delphinius came to disown me."

"Oh, Bell."

"His loss. I'm pretty sure the new Queen of Arcadia is going to like me a lot more than she likes him. And it wasn't like I really wanted to go back. It'll be bad if Clarke doesn't want to marry me, but I'm pretty sure she won't exile me from her country just for asking. And she'll knight me if I ask. For service to her kingdom."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "And she wants to marry you," she says, and he doesn't argue. He doesn't have the heart.

Nate and Raven show up, and then Wells, who fills them in on more of the gossip.

"They think she has a secret lover, and you were in on it. Which makes more sense than you being the secret lover and you being in on it, but I'm looking forward to seeing their faces when they find out."

Bellamy's not drunk, but he's pleasantly hazy, enough to groan and say, "Can we stop acting like she's--we're not secret anything. We're friends. She might not--" He huffs. "We haven't talked about it."

There's a pause, and he's pretty sure everyone is thinking he's an idiot. He _knows_ they all think it's obvious, that he and Clarke are going to get married now, that she loves him, and sometimes he thinks the same. But even if she does feel the same way he does, it might be difficult now. He refused to marry her in front of every important person in the nearest fifteen kingdoms or so. Maybe they aren't allowed to just change their minds.

"To Bellamy," Raven finally says. "Who's definitely going to be fine."

"To Bellamy," his friends agree, and he smiles and drinks with them. If nothing else, he believes that. He's definitely going to be fine.

They leave around eleven-thirty, and Bellamy doesn't know if they think Clarke's going to come and don't want to be there or just realize he's exhausted and kind of needs to be alone, but either way, he's grateful. He hugs everyone, even Wells, and thanks them, and then he changes into his sleep shirt and pants and settles back in to read.

He has no idea if she's going to show up, but he thinks if she does, it will be after midnight. Once she's no longer bound to what her mother decides for her. 

Or maybe she and her mother will be arguing all night, and he won't get to see her for a few days, in which case he'll just go to sleep. He has no doubt she'll come as soon as she can; she'll want to talk to him. So he figures he might as well wait until one in the morning or so. Just to be safe.

The castle bell is chiming, the soft, nighttime chimes of midnight, when the knock comes on his door. He wipes his palms on the soft material of his pants, wonders if he should change, and then realizes he doesn't care at all. If he was going to be proper and respectful, he wouldn't have done that.

Clarke is dressed as casually as he is, in her own night gown, her hair braided back loosely from her face. She doesn't look _more_ beautiful than she did in the wedding hall, it's just a different kind of beauty.

Every Clarke is the most beautiful Clarke; he's so stupidly in love with her.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi." She slips into the room and closes the door, giving him a shy smile. "Have I thanked you yet today?"

His laugh catches him by surprise. "No. But it's only been today for about a minute. Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thanks. And-- _thanks_. I can't believe you--King Delphinius must have been furious."

"Yeah," he admits. It seems stupid to deny it. "I assume your mother hates me too."

"She thinks I put you up to it, so she's still blaming me more than you." She wets her lips. "I'm sorry. I never wanted you to have to--I never wanted you to put yourself at risk for this."

"Don't apologize. You didn't put me up to it." He swallows hard. "I didn't want that, Clarke. I didn't want you like that."

She nods, catches her lip with her teeth. "I know. I--" It's like she's checking things off a list, closing her eyes, letting out a breath, clenching her fists. "I didn't want to ask before, and I feel even worse asking now, but--will you marry me?" His heart stops, which she seems to take as a sign he might refuse her. "I know I'm--I didn't want to put you through all this, I didn't know how I'd feel about you, and I needed to--"

He surges forward, catches her chin in his hands, kisses her with all the ferocity born of _not_ kissing her for two months, of aching for her and loving her and waiting for this, for her to be all her own and to ask for him.

Her arms come up around him and she kisses back, mouth opening for him instantly, fingers tangling in his hair. It's too frantic to keep up, a messy explosion of a kiss, and he's got her trapped against the door with his mouth trailing down her jaw in seconds.

"I love you," he tells her. "Clarke, fuck, I--"

She laughs, shaky and delighted, pulls him back up for a slower, sweeter kiss, something long and lingering. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I love you too."

"I was going to ask you."

"I hoped you would. But I couldn't wait."

He grins at her. "Princesses. One day they don't want to marry you and the next--"

"I always wanted to marry you," she says, not letting him make a joke of it, and he kisses her again.

"Even when you were eight?"

"As much as I wanted to marry anyone when I was eight."

"I'm not a prince anymore. The king disowned me. For destroying Olympia's relationship with Arcadia. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Just for him. I'm going to be queen. I'm going to marry whomever I want."

"Do we have to plan another royal wedding?" he asks. "I don't know if I can take that again."

She laughs, and he has to kiss her again. She doesn't seem to mind. "My mother asked what I was possibly planning to do about my marriage now. I've been very inappropriate with you and no one will ever believe my virtue is intact after how we carried on."

"My virtue's fine, thanks for asking." She looks surprised, and he feels himself flush. "Never had much time," he admits. "And I didn't know if you'd changed your mind."

"Oh." Her kiss is soft and warm. "I love you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He smiles. "Did I say I'd marry you? I'll marry you."

"I was worried you'd say no, after all that," she teases.

"I did refuse to marry you once today."

"Yesterday," she corrects. "You refused to marry me yesterday."

"Yesterday," he agrees. "Today, I'll marry you."

"Good." She tucks her face against his neck, and he pulls her closer. Somehow, he doesn't think he'll be able to let go of her for a while. She must have the same thought, because she says, "I'm too tired to divest you of your virtue, but--can I stay?"

"Yeah. Please."

They fell asleep together earlier in the week, but that was different. It felt like he was getting away with something, cheating into stolen time. Now she curls against his chest, fingers tangling in his shirt, lips pressed against his collarbone.

She really does love him too.

"Goodnight," he says into her hair. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks. Best ever."

*

He wakes up with sunlight streaming in and Clarke curled into his chest, the reality of it better than any dream. Her hair is escaping her braid in wisps and she's drooling a little on his arm, and he's going to marry her.

The clock chimes nine, and he leans down to kiss her, because he's sure they have things to do, and he also just can't wait. She wakes up under his mouth, and when she rolls them over to press him into the mattress, he laughs.

"This is the most awake I've ever seen you in the morning," he teases.

"This is the best reason I've had to wake up." Her hands skate under his shirt, tugging it up, and he leans up so she can get it off him. 

"Ordinarily I'd tell you I was saving myself for marriage, but we did have a wedding yesterday, and I have no idea when we'll have another one," he teases.

Her fingers trace the planes of his chest, making him shiver. She's much paler than he is, the Arcadian royal family coming from northern stock and the Olympian from southern, and he likes the contrast of her skin on his.

"Having fun?' he asks, voice coming out husky. He was already half-hard when he woke up, like usual, and having her on top of him has brought him to full attention. 

She leans down to press her lips over his heart. "I love you," she says, unexpected. "And I'm so grateful."

He slides his hand into her hair, gentle. "You don't have to be. It was--" He swallows. "It was tempting for a minute, seeing you up there. But then they started talking and it was creepy again, so--"

She laughs, kisses down his chest, and he shifts as she gets lower and lower. "Don't object. I'm trying to thank you." Her fingers hook in his pants and tug them down and off too.

"Oh," he manages. "Then, yeah. It was awful. I'm traumatized. You'd better make it up to me."

"You've never done this before?" she asks.

"You said you hadn't either." He can't help feeling a little defensive; she's just sort of staring at his erection. He hopes there's nothing wrong with it.

She kisses his hip. "I haven't. Not this. I just--" Her smile is all teeth. "I can't believe I get to be the only one."

"We'll probably be terrible at it," he says, but she wraps her fingers around him and tugs, and the end of the sentence is lost in a moan. "Fuck."

"I think we can figure it out," she says, smug, and leans in to wrap her lips around him.

Bellamy heard about this, from the other squires and his cousins. It's the kind of thing that makes a good story, cocksucking. Easy to brag about how it was too big to fit in her mouth or whatever. Having no experience of his own to draw on, Bellamy never participated, but it did sound like something he wouldn't mind trying, some day.

Clarke doesn't shove her mouth over his entire dick and let him thrust into her mouth, which was always what seemed to happen in the stories. She takes him slowly, exploring just the head, swirling her tongue around and flirting with the slit, like she wants to memorize every detail of him before she moves down.

His fingers tangle in her hair and he groans; nothing in his life has ever felt this good, and he tells her as much. She just hums and takes him a little deeper, sliding her mouth down as her fingers trail up his shaft. It's nothing like how he touches himself, so delicate and careful, and he's afraid of release only because he never wants it to end.

He feels his climax building as she starts to go deeper, letting him thrust into her mouth, and he manages to string together, "Clarke, I'm going to--" with some effort. 

She pulls off but keeps her hand going, and he drags her to his mouth by the back of her neck, kissing her wet and desperate as he comes apart in her fingers.

"Fuck," he breathes against her mouth.

"I told you we'd be fine."

He grazes his teeth over her jaw. "I can--what can I do? I want to touch you everywhere."

"You can," she says, and he rolls her over so she's spread out under him. She looks flushed and happy, proud of herself, and when he kisses her, she still tastes like his skin.

He tugs her nightgown off and pulls back to stare. She's wearing nothing under it and he can't believe he was so close to having her naked. He can't believe he's gone this long without seeing her, because she's absolutely perfect, every inch of her.

"You don't have to just look," she says, teasing, and he stops staring and presses a kiss against the mole on her breast.

"Tell me what you like," he says. "Since you know."

"I haven't done much," she says. "It was only a few times before my parents started to suspect and the tutor was dismissed." She pauses and adds, "I have dreams about your hands."

He slides one up her thigh. "Doing what?"

She wraps her fingers around his wrist and guides him, setting two fingers on a nub between her legs. When her rubs her, she moans, so he keeps going, kissing down her breast and playing with the sensitive spot.

"Yeah," she breathes, squirming under him. "That's good, just like that."

His mouth reaches her nipple, and he swirls his tongue experimentally, making her hips jerk against his fingers. One of her hands finds his back, nails digging in hard, and he sucks her gently, making her curse.

The scrape of his teeth has her gasping and grabbing his wrist again. "Bell, please," she moans, and he slides two fingers inside her easily. She's wet and hot, perfect, and when her own fingers find the nub again, he slides his mouth down to take their place, working it with his tongue until she arches up. He feels her contracting around him in waves, and he can only imagine how it will be when it's his cock inside her, pushing him over the edge with her.

He can't quite tell when she's done, aftershocks pulsing through her in shaky bursts, so he goes until she pulls him off to kiss her again. He wraps himself around her, tangling their legs together, and tries to figure out something to say that isn't embarrassing or inappropriate.

"When do you have to go back?" is what he finally comes up with.

She noses his neck. She feels practically boneless in his arms, spent and happy. Because of _him_.

"No one will expect me very soon. I'm always useless in the morning," she reminds him, and closes her eyes.

He's dozing with his hand tangled in her hair when the clock strikes ten, and she makes an unhappy noise and shifts closer. He smiles and gives her a squeeze before he rolls out of bed to find clothing. "You're going to be crowned queen today, I don't think you're allowed to spend the whole day in my bed."

"Doesn't being the queen mean I can do whatever I want?" she asks.

"Not if you're going to be a good one."

"I'm going to be the worst queen. The day of my coronation and I don't even have any clothing to wear."

"That's what you get for sleeping with the man who refused to marry you." He throws her a shirt of his and some trousers. "Do you need me to escort you back?"

She presses her forehead against his shoulder, laughing. "It's going to be such a scandal, even without this. I just--I couldn't wait to talk to you."

He brings his arms up around her, pulling her in close. "Yeah. I'm glad you didn't. But the first few days of your reign are going to be very weird and awkward after that wedding, so--we'll just have to get through them." He offers his arm. "Together?"

She rests her fingers on his arm. She's swimming in his clothes, and it's adorable. "Together," she agrees.

*

Clarke has at least been sneaking around her own palace for long enough to know a lot of shortcuts and unknown passages. They go through some servant areas, because the servants definitely already know Clarke spent the night with him, and, honestly, he's pretty sure it's less that she cares about anyone knowing that and is more concerned about having to actually talk to someone when she's wearing his clothing and only half awake. They make it back without that happening, and she shows him the back way in, which will come in handy if they can't get married for a while.

He reads in her sitting room while she gets properly dressed for the day, and her mother shows up before she's done. The queen regent walks in without warning, barely giving the servant time to announce her, so Bellamy doesn't even get the chance to sit up straight.

Even King Delphinius didn't look like he wanted to murder Bellamy so much; it's actually impressive.

"What are you doing here?" she demands.

"Waiting for Clarke."

Her jaw works. "She was with you last night."

"Yeah."

"So you wouldn't marry my daughter, but you'll--"

"Oh, no, I'm going to marry her," he says. "She asked me last night, and I said yes, so--I don't know exactly how it works, but I assume once she's the queen she'll figure it out."

The queen regent rubs her face. He still doesn't feel _bad_ for her, exactly, but he's willing to admit she's probably having a really unpleasant couple of days. "I can't believe she found someone as stubborn as she is to go along with her ridiculous plans."

"Yeah, I can't either."

The queen regent regards him for a long moment. "Do you love her?"

He swallows. "Yeah."

"At least that's something. Where is she?"

"Getting dressed."

The queen regent nods again, conversation apparently concluded. Idly, he wonders what he's supposed to call her. She feels like someone who might insist on being Queen Abigail even once her daughter is crowned and he's married to her. But she could surprise him, too.

Clarke comes out a few minutes later and smiles at her mother. "Good morning."

"It never occurred to you to _ask_ if you could wait until you were of age to marry him? If you were going to do it anyway."

"If you'd said no, where would that have left me? You've spent my whole life telling me how important these traditions are--"

"Traditions _are_ important--"

"That doesn't mean they're _good_. Just because we've been doing something for a long time, it doesn't mean it's right. It just means everyone's used to being stupid."

"And now you're just planning to marry him. After all that."

"I'm planning to explain why I'm marrying him now." She lifts her chin, regal and imperious. A queen. "Are you going to try to stop me?"

It looks like the queen regent might argue, but she finally just sighs. "You might as well do it after the coronation. Everyone's here already, and it won't get any less absurd if we wait."

Clarke's grin is bright and sudden, surprised and delighted all at once. "Yes, I thought that would be good too." She turns her smile to Bellamy. "Will you say yes this time?"

"If you're the one asking, yeah."

"Then, sure. Let's have a wedding too."

*

Bellamy's second wedding day is a big improvement over his first. He has fewer lines to learn, for one thing, and Clarke is giving her own vows. The two of them visit King Delphinius beforehand and, honestly, every bad experience Bellamy has had with the royal family is worth it for the look on his face when Clarke explains that, really, she won't _mind_ marrying him even if he's been disowned and has no title, but everyone else would probably be happier if she was marrying a prince of Olympia, as planned. And the king, through gritted teeth, grants that this is true, and since he hasn't officially disowned Bellamy to anyone except Bellamy himself, there's really no need to go through with the whole thing after all.

It's not like he wanted the title much, especially since he's about to get a new, better one, but it's still incredibly satisfying.

He can hear the shocked murmurs when he appears in his regular place at the royal table for Clarke's coronation, and then after, when the minister says, "Although this is unusual, the queen has also requested that I perform another ceremony for her. As an adult and a queen, it is her right to choose her own spouse, and she has done so. This is unprecedented in our history." He inclines his head to Clarke. "My queen?"

Clarke stands and smiles. She looks every inch the queen, and he could burst with pride in her. "I think I owe you all an apology. Arcadia has any number of outdated traditions, but--" She laughs, soft. "Like most people, I'm selfish. The ones that mattered most to me were the ones that affected me personally. No injustice feels worse than the one you yourself experience. And I know, as the princess, my injustices are nothing, compared to many others'. But--this is one we all feel. In Arcadia, it is tradition that women marry the week before our eighteenth birthdays, when we still belong to our parents. We do not take spouses; we are given to them. And I didn't want to be something given away. And--" She ducks her head down. "Ten years ago, I was very lucky to meet a boy who agreed _not_ to take me. We did our very best to make sure the wedding never happened, but--it did, and he was gracious enough to refuse my hand, knowing how important this was to me, and not wanting to take something that wasn't freely given. So now, as a queen and an adult, I have asked him if he will marry me. And he's said yes. So, with your indulgence, I'd like to marry him now."

Clarke turns, offers her hand, and he rises and takes it. It's a new ceremony, one written today, just for them, and it's easy. All the answers are the ones he wants to give; will he value her, will he support her, will he honor her, will he marry her.

He says yes to every one, and so does she, and when the minister gives his blessing, he leans down and presses his lips to hers. 

His own coronation is much shorter than hers was, more of an epilogue to the wedding, just a few lines and it's over. It was surprisingly easy to forget he was going to be king, and the responsibility still feels a little daunting, but he likes his silver coronet, the way it rests in his hair and matches Clarke's.

"So, how many other shitty traditions does your country have?" he asks, leaning in close. "Just give me a guess."

" _Our_ country," she says. She taps her finger against his crown. "It's your problem now too."

"Fine, how many shitty traditions does _our_ country have?"

"Too many."

He offers his arm again, and she takes it. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of just that, her fingers on his arm and the place where she fits against his side. "That's what I figured. Ready?"

She presses her head against his shoulder, just for a second, and straightens. "Ready. Let's get to work."

And they step out into the throne room to meet their people together.


End file.
